The Chocolatier's Wife (11 page)

She
straightened
her
hair,
wondering
if
anyone
would
speak
to
her
and how much she’d just hurt her chances of a
reasonable life in
this town.
  She pulled her hood back up, trying to feel a little less vulnerable.

She
approached
a
young
man
who
was
pretending
to
sweep
the
sidewalk, though
the
sprites,
on
their
way
out
of
town
to
wherever
they
planned
to put the carriage,
had done the job for
him.

“Where do you keep your prisoners?”

The
young
man blushed
and
pointed
to
an
imposing
building
on
the other side of the street.

She
smiled
at
him
kindly, reminding
herself
that
though
these
people were
used
to
magic
as
an abstract
idea,
it
was
not
something
they
were exposed to
,
except on
rare
occasions.
“Thank
you very
much.”

She
picked
up
her
things
and
went,
with
great
trepidation,
to
see
to
her future.

The
prison was
a
large,
imposing
stone
structure
that
housed
the garrison
for
the
port.
Solders
in
red
and
green
uniforms
either
lounged in
groups
drinking and
pla
y
ing
games,
or
ran
on
errands
as
if
the
world depended
on
their
speed.
One
pointed
her
upstairs,
and
she
went
up
the
carved stone
steps
to
the
second
floor.
Another
offered
to
help
carry
her
things,
but she
declined
with
a
smile.
Through a
few
narrow
windows
she
could
see that the barracks
were
situated to overlook
the port.

A
man
sat
at
the
desk,
a
pair
of
stout
oak
doors
behind
him
guarded
by
men with rifles.
“I am here to see William Almsley?” she said to him.

He
looked
up;
then
opened
the
ledger,
dipping
his
quill.
“Name?
Relation?”

“Tasmin Bey, his fiancée.”

He
wrote
this
down. “You
may
go
through
the
left
hand
door.
That
is where
we
keep
those
accused
of
capital
crimes. Please
leave
your
bags, miss.”

She
curtsied
and
did
as
she
was
bid.
The
oak
door
was
unbarred and opened,
and
she
walked
down
the
long, dimly
lit
hallway
to
the
cages
that were the cells.

There
were
four
cells
in
this
section,
and only
two
were
occupied.
She knew
imm
e
diately
which
one
must
be
her
intended, simply
because
she knew
that
William was
not
sixty
years
old,
nor,
she
thought,
prone
to babbling madly about puppies.

The
daylight
showed
him
well.
Hair
a
little
lighter
than
her
own,
almost honey
co
l
ored.
He
looked
at
her
briefly, then
away,
the
afternoon
sun showing
his
eyes
to
be
a
rather
nice,
vibrant shade
of
blue.
His
face
was
a little
round,
yes,
but
one
could
not
call
him
fat.
He
was
stocky.
Taller
than most
but
not
overly
so.
She
smiled
a
little.
Not
unattractive
at
all,
as
long
as one’s
expectations were reasonable.

She
swallowed,
trying
to
speak,
wondering
where
her
voice
had
gone.
“So, what
nonsense
is
this
I
hear
about
you
poisoning
our
customers? Really,
William, is
that
any
way
to
run
a
business?”
Her
hands
clenched nervously,
and
her chest seemed to ache from
want of air.

As
he
turned,
she
realized
her
cloak
hood
was
still
up,
and
she
reached up and
quickly
pushed it back,
smiling at him.

It
took
him
visibly
aback.
He
came
over
to
the
cell
bars
and
peered
at
her, then
laughed,
a
huff
of
disbelief
that
did
not
sound
altogether
unpleased.
“I never
dreamed you would come.”

“Well.
It
seemed
like
the
right
thing
to
do.
After
all,
we
are
to
be
married.” She gave him
a
pleased smile. “How did you know
it was me?”

“There
was
no
one
else
it
could
be,
especially
with
that
remark.”
He returned
her
smile,
and
then
shook
his
head.
“You
are
no
longer
bound to
wed
me. Even
when
I
am
proved
innocent
...
and I
will
be,
I
swear
...
it would do your reputation no
good.”

“Oh,
yes.”
She
said,
and
took
a
step
forward. “And
I
am
already
so popular
with
the
townsfolk,
being
a
Tarnia
hag
and
all
that.
Why,
widowers are
lining
up outside the barracks,
hoping to coax
me away from
you.”

He
laughed
again, and
she
decided
she
rather liked
his
smile.
It
took him from
b
e
ing
a
bit
plain
to
being
rather
handsome.
She
had
no
illusions about
her
own
looks,
so
hoped,
despite
her
resolve
not
to
care,
that
she
did not disappoint his eye, either.

She
put
her
hand
through
the
bars,
and
he
took
it, pressing
a
hard
kiss on
the
back,
and
an
equally
fierce
one
in
the
palm,
and
her
toes
curled, and
she
knew, like
she
knew
right
from
left,
that
she
had
made
the
right choice.

“It is good to see you,
William,”
she said with feeling.

“And
you.
At
long
last,
I
get
to
see
the
woman
the
babe
has
become.
I
can
hardly credit my good fortune.”